Frank Ocean Writes Powerful Letter Regarding His Sexuality

Frank Ocean has been on the tip of everyone’s tongue for the past few days because he used the word ‘him’ instead of her on his upcoming album. The media has ‘speculated’ for years that Ocean was bisexual at minimum, but he didn’t make things clear until now.

Posting a message on his tumblr page, he talks openly about a relationship that he had with a man and how he tried hiding his sexuality in women (literally).

After the break, you can read the full letter, but let me just give my two cents.

I’ve always hated how Hollywood and the media loved to ‘drag’ people out of the closet. Your choice of profession doesn’t have to be synonymous with your sexuality. While I don’t think that it’s wrong to be loud and proud about who you love, I also don’t think that one should ever feel obligated to share their sexuality if they don’t want to. To constantly pull and drag at people…it makes me wonder how many people are here for the art versus a facet of the artist’s life that is, quite frankly (see what I did there), none of our business.

Kudos to Frank Ocean, man! Whole new level of respect opened up from me to him. And not because we are similar but instead because he had the courage to say ‘f-ck what y’all think’ when it’s really not our business.

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Whoever you are, where ever you are, I’m starting to think we’re a lot alike. Human beings spinning on blackness. All wanting to be seen, touched, heard, paid attention to. My loved ones are everything to me here. In the last year or three, I’ve screamed at my creator, screamed at clouds in the sky for some explanation. Mercy maybe. For peace of mind to rain like Manna somehow.

Four summers ago, I met somebody. I was 19 years old; he was too. We spent that summer, and the summer after, together. Everyday almost. And on the days we were together, time would glide. Most of the day I’d see him and his smile. I’d hear his conversation and his silence until it was time to sleep. Sleep I would often share with him. By the time I realized I was in love, it was malignant. It was hopeless. It was no escaping, no negotiating with the feelings. No choice. It was my first love. It changed my life.

Back then, my mind would wander to the women I had been with, the ones I cared for and thought I was in love with. I reminisced about the sentimental songs I enjoyed when I was a teenager. The ones I played when I experienced a girlfriend for the first time. I realized they were written in a language I did not yet speak. I realized too much too quickly. Imagine being thrown from a plane. I wasn’t in a plane though. I was in a Nissan Maxima, the same car I packed up with bags and drove to Los Angeles in.

I sat there and told my friend how I felt. I wept as the words left my mouth. I grieved for them, knowing I could never take them back for myself. He patted my back. He said kind things. He did his best. But he wouldn’t admit the same.

He had to go back inside soon. It was late and his girlfriend was waiting for him upstairs. He wouldn’t tell me the truth about his feelings for me for another three years. I felt like I only imagined reciprocity for years. Now imagine being thrown from a cliff. No, I wasn’t on a cliff. I was still in my car telling myself it was gonna be fine and to take deep breaths. I took the breaths and carried on. I kept up a peculiar friendship with him because I couldn’t imagine keeping up my life without him. I struggled to master myself and my emotions. I wasn’t always successful.

The dance went on…I kept the rhythm for several summers after. It’s winter now. I’m typing this on a plane back to Los Angeles from New Orleans. I flew home for another marred Christmas. I have a window seat. It’s December 27th, 2011. By now I’ve written two albums. This being the second. I wrote to keep myself busy and sane. I wanted to created worlds that were rosier than mine. I tried to channel overwhelming emotions. I’m surprised at how far all of it has taken me.

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